Here lies a good man, lately dead,
Who never saved, nor looked ahead;
proceedings which he justified
by trusting Heaven to provide.
Heaven provided in the end,
impersonated by a friend,
whom Something had impelled to save
to point this spendthrift to the grave.
And so, at the appointed hour,
Untapped his sap was, faded flower
unrooted was to feed new roots
through maggots working in cahoots.
Moral: who turns to Providence
earns earnest urn at own expense.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem